This Is My Kingdom Come, and other writings
by killipan-jones
Summary: An ongoing series of Captain Swan writings within the same universe. Includes 'This Is My Kingdom Come' and 'Shatter and Shimmer'. Warning: dark!Hook, at times. Emma/Hook
1. This Is My Kingdom Come

**Title**: _This Is My Kingdom Come_

**Author**: Abigayle (Tumblr: )

**Pairing**: Killian Jones/Emma Swan (Once Upon A Time)

**Rating**: M (sex, talk of gore, language || Warning: Dark!Hook)

**Summary**: _"—I could have killed you, Swan."_ || _Emma needs a promise from Hook. Hook needs to reconcile with his darkest side._ (Spoilers up through Queen of Hearts)

**_Suggested listening_****: **"Demons", by Imagine Dragons, "Underneath", by Adam Lambert, and "Poison and Wine", by The Civil Wars.

At first, Emma was furious to find Hook lurking around Storybrooke, somehow practically invisible to everyone but her, even in all his leather and boots and _hooks _and anachronisms.

Cora remained to be unseen thus far, although Emma had promptly warned Mr. Gold and Regina that she had _reasons _for believing that the arrival of the Evil Queen's vindictive mother was imminent. Emma found herself refusing to tell them what exactly her _reasons_ were.

Yes, she had been furious. After getting back to Storybrooke and feeling the initial adrenaline of seeing Henry again fade, Emma had time to notice a mixture of relief and something just short of _longing_ at the thought of never having to deal with Hook again. She had learned a long time ago to ignore and vehemently _push _away feelings that might lead her into dangerous risk, especially risks with such violent blowback (_Prison? A baby? A broken heart? Graham's _crushed _heart?)_. For the first time in her entire life, she truly had _love _to fight for, and she had decided on top of that beanstalk that she wasn't going to risk letting a goddamned _pirate _get in the way of reuniting with her son—

_—Even after Hook had gotten in her space and just stood there, _being there_, looking down into her with his sea blue eyes and all the curiosity in the world as if he were trying to decipher her, make her fit like a piece into his own troubled mosaic—_puzzle_— and tried to make her feel just okay there, but then his eyes were starting to grow dark and—_

_—_and she hadn't. She had made sure of it. But now she was here and Henry was safe for now and Hook was waiting in the shadows and her blood was running stale.

Her purposes were innocent enough when Emma decided to let her own curiosity get the best of her.

— — —

Hook knew she had seen him in dark alleys and around corners, time and time again, and he had let her, time and time again. The first night her cool, steely eyes had met his, he had been leaning against the brick wall of what appeared to be a flower vendor's shop, the light drizzle of a Maine midnight storm wetting her blonde locks as she walked out of her Sherriff's office. Her expression moved quickly through surprise, fear, and finally something else he couldn't place his finger on. To his surprise, she had just kept moving.

The last night, he let her follow him back to his ship.

Emma was every bit as curious as he needed her to be for the journey. Instead of only following him a few blocks tonight, carefully staying half a klick behind, he needed her to want it enough to follow him now around the edge of forest, just outside of town and straight to the coastline, around the small cape and out of Storybrooke's sight. Despite her better instincts, he was willing to bet, she never turned around to go home.

He had been very proud of himself for finding this spot to anchor the _Roger_, having caught wind of the townspeople's inability to cross over Storybrooke's border. This way, Hook could have free passage in and out of Storybrooke, but nobody could follow him back to his ship.

Well, _almost _nobody.

Encountering the daughter of Snow White in the Enchanted Forest had been cause for some change of plan. The hot, burning orb clamoring for vengeance inside Hook (well, inside Killian— Hook _was _that vengeance) had evolved since Emma Swan abandoned him miles above the land below them. His need to skin his Crocodile was just as strong, _stronger_ perhaps, but his selfish desires had changed somewhat.

Hook understood through his shock why Emma had refused to take a chance on trusting him. He was sure that someone in her past had been allowed in, and that someone had taken his chance to leave her with a broken heart, maybe something more. And Hook— Hook felt within him an entirely explainable certainty that this someone had been a man very much like himself.

And that had been the most disgusting thing of all. He did bristle at the idea of a woman losing her heart… but _even over himself_. The years Killian had with Milah were something he couldn't be convinced to trade for all the pirate gold in every realm known to man. _But—_

_—_But he had spent more than 300 years thinking about the consequences of Milah's actions, of _their _actions. If Emma Swan were to explain it like one of the infantile _fairy tales_ he had so often heard her recount in such choppy fashion, Milah's decision to leave the Crocodile for a lifetime full of adventure and love would have sounded like a beautiful, lofty idea that could only hurt the villains in their story. _But_—

_—_But there were more than villains. Milah had borne a son with Rumplestiltskin, the frail, pathetic man he knew existed before he became the Dark One. She had talked of Baelfire not often, but on occasion and always with such sad eyes. The Lost Boy he once was had always screamed then to play pretend with her, to kiss her and smile and lead her on glorious adventures to make her forget about the Lost Boy of her own. Each time they played, the game had worked a little bit better. By the time the Crocodile caught up with him, Hook had not seen that sad look in Milah's eyes for more than a decade, _but—_

_—But then. _Then, it had been the last look she ever gave him.

Somewhere out there, maybe even in this world, there was a Lost Boy by the name of Baelfire waiting for the father who had abandoned him not long after his mother had done the very same. For all Hook knew, that same Lost Boy had spun himself a life of thievery and mischief, making troubled young women fall in love by playing pretend with him before proving to be the worst thing that had ever happened to them, if they were lucky.

_Their end_, he thought, _if they were less fortunate_.

The wounds ripped into Hook's heart from Milah's death beside him had healed, eventually. The problem with wounds, he had learned, was that those which festered and became black with infection either had to close up or kill you in the end. And when these wounds did heal, he found that they left the most wicked and _deadly _of scars.

So when Emma Swan had betrayed him in the Giant's lair because some man had probably played pretend with her too long before looking on as her heart was crushed, he could not blame her.

And yet, in a way that he felt still had so much to do with the man he was himself, he knew that this man somewhere— the man who was like him— was not the beginning or the end of Emma Swan's grim fairy tale.

He had felt the tension between Emma Swan and Snow White, two women whom he'd sensed were still strangers to each other across a wall of circumstance. He had listened, on nights when the Princesses had decided to make camp, as Snow White quietly tried to talk to her daughter about this Henry boy, about how Emma would get back to him, _find him_ again like they themselves had _found each other_ again after so many years apart.

And he had heard Emma when she bit back, "No, Mary Margaret. _I _found _you_."

Although Hook could not remember knowing his mother and father, he knew that they had left him of their own choosing. He and Emma Swan shared a genetic code unique to those who knew what it was to be abandoned, for whatever reason. He knew Baelfire, wherever he was, shared that same code, all three a part of an unnamed brethren of those who were alike only in that they were so different from everyone else who believed magic could heal any wound and make happiness last forever and ever. It was a brethren that must grow every day, he thought, with every new child (_every man, woman_) that watched the innocent, incorruptible love in their life disappear.

He wondered if there was a place, maybe some beautiful paradise or kingdom above him in the night sky, where they all unknowingly meet sometimes, silent, on cold summer nights when the air is thin and empty and the sun had left them to just _remember _what they never had for themselves, won't ever have a chance at again unless they can _pretend_ it's still there or maybe, _maybe _unless the sun decides to finally rise warmer than it set.

_Second star to the right and straight on 'till morning._

So no, he could not blame Emma, because he _was _Emma in a strange way. He was an Emma Swan that had lived for three hundred years in a land where dreams and fury never grow old, where there was nothing but time and wicked creativity for plotting revenge. Hook was true to his word, he would _not _have left Emma Swan on top of that beanstalk, but only because he had lived centuries longer than her and he knew who to waste his time on with skepticism and when to recognize when something good had finally come along.

But there were people he could blame.

He could blame men like himself, who did not think twice about creating broken families because his own had become so broken long before he could remember.

He could blame the children of the men like the Crocodile, somewhere out there, who never learned from their parents' mistakes and who so often became the very same men who ruined their lives.

He could blame men and women like Snow White and Prince Charming, who could justify abandonment of a child on the basis that fucking _magic _can solve everything.

But most of all, he could blame men like the Crocodile, men who orphaned sons and daughters because they would not fight for what they believed right, who let go of family because it was just too damned _difficult_ to hold on to, who killed women to hurt those he despised, who _created _men like _Hook_, like the man who ruined Emma Swan.

So Hook had decided, after Emma left him on top of that beanstalk, that his course of action once arriving at Storybrooke would be slightly different than he had originally planned. He would fashion himself a new pair of crocodile hide boots, for certain, but not before finding every person Rumplestiltskin had ever hurt, every child that ever had to grow up without parents because of him or his curses, every lover that had ever seen their true love ripped away from them. He would gather them before him, and every one of them would be made to watch, to _gape _as the Beast's heart hung from the end of his hook and the blood began to crust on the ground around his boots and he saw green scales glisten in the justice of the starlight far above him and—

—And then Hook forgot, not for the first time, what so defined the man he had dedicated the rest of his life to _destroying_.

Men like the Crocodile killed because vengeance was easier than blaming themselves.

— — —

Hook waited for her on the topmost deck, casually leaning over the wooden railings of the _Jolly Roger_ as she followed his last steps straight up to the edge of the ramp. He watched as Emma took in the sights of the great ship she heard about in all the great stories, very _real _before her eyes now. He could imagine how it must look to her, so out of place amongst everything she knew her world to be, a foreboding gray silhouette alone in the misty dusk settling over the sea. Hook could read the indecision on her face about furthering the risk she was taking, having followed him for miles already but unsure now if satisfying her curiosity was worth boarding a real-life _pirate ship_.

"It's really quite nice inside, my love. And I would be hard-pressed to turn away such enticing company on an evening like this." He decided to take her by surprise, speaking up suddenly and pouring every bit of charm he could muster into his greeting.

Emma's head snapped up to where she found him leaning over the rails, clearly shocked that he was aware of her presence.

"What, did you really think I wouldn't notice someone following me?"

She remained silent, mouth open, looking like she was about to run at any second.

"I don't bite, love. Come aboard."

"Cora—"

"—Is no longer in my company," he cut her off, casting his eyes to the aged wood of the deck below him. Hook felt the need to convince her of his sincerity for a brief moment. "Our arrangement was a means to an end, and that end was arriving in your world. I no longer have reason or interest in associating with that woman."

Emma's eyes suddenly flashed anger. "Why are you here, Hook?"

"You know the answer to that, Princess."

She considered her options for a moment. "Is it just you on board?"

He shot her a grin and arched one dark eyebrow. "Pirate's honor, milady."

She rolled her eyes at him but, to his surprise, began stomping up the ramp anyways.

Hook turned and walked to the deck below. He met her as she was entering the hallways dividing the crew's cabins, watching her take in the old, well-preserved look of boards and fixtures.

"I take full measures to make sure my crew takes care of the _Roger,_" Hook bantered, idly. "I went through a lot of trouble to steal her away some years ago, and I won't have her falling decrepit due to a sordid lot of _pirates_." He made sure to put a little extra bite on the last word, teasing her with another arching eyebrow and swift lick of his lips.

"The _Roger? _As in, the _Jolly Roger_?" Emma gave him her infamous eye roll once more. "This is ridiculous."

"Now, now, lass." He slid his hand down onto the small of her back, a little surprised when all she did was shoot him a glare. "No making fun of my ship, or I won't give you the grand tour."

"Hook, I'm not here for a tour."

"Then why _are_ you here, love?" She pretended to grimace at the pet name, but let him lead her through the wide double doors and into the Captain's quarters all the same. Emma's expression softened briefly as she took in the grandness of the room before her, adorned with rich mahogany furniture and beautiful gems, marred by the occasional gash of an angry hook.

She tore her eyes from their exploration as he closed the doors behind them, keeping out the chill of the wind.

"I'm—I'm here because I need you to make me a promise."

Hook briefly considered her unease in the room before walking over to his desk, taking his time with an answer as he set to work lighting the lantern.

"Pray tell, love, why on earth I would I ever want to make _you _a promise," he asked, not bothering to inject any charm or levity into his voice, "after what you did to me on top of that beanstalk?"

She ignored the question, clearly not feeling much like defending her actions at the moment. Hook didn't need her to.

"I need you to promise me that you won't hurt my family."

Hook thought it best to remain silent as she talked, ignoring his sudden urge to yell at her, to shout about the things _he _had done for _her_ to make sure she got back to her son, to make sure there wasn't one more Lost Boy in the world.

"I don't know everything you're planning on doing here, Hook. But I know you want to kill Mr. Gold." She paused as turned to face her, apparently uncomfortable with the way he was sauntering her direction, dragging his heavy boots. "And I'm not sure why you haven't tried yet, but I've been watching him—"

"—You didn't warn him I was here."

Her eyes flashed with confusion and fear again, betraying her surprise and confirming what he already knew to be true.

"You told that Crocodile and the Queen about Cora. They've been looking for her." Her eyes averted the gaze he shot her, tinged with a hint of growing irritation. "But you didn't utter a word to them about my being in Storybrooke. Why?"

Hook watched as Emma stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat, using the grip to tug the article more tightly around her body. "I don't know. I figured I could handle—"

"—So now you've abandoned me with a giant," he interrupted, his voice growing tenser by the second. "And you've watched as I returned to Cora only to go and secure your path back to your son at the last minute regardless of your _unfathomable_ betrayal."

Confusion etched her face as her eyes grew wide, her mouth opening in protest before he continued.

"And you _know_, you're _positive_ enough about my honest-to-goodness intentions in Storybrooke to keep my presence a secret, and yet you have the _gall_," he was yelling now, closing the space between them, "to board _my ship_ and demand I start making you promises not hurt the person you love, when you know _goddamned well_, Princess, that I only came to your realm to avenge the person _I _once loved?"

And suddenly that same girl he came face-to-face with in Rumplestiltskin's cell was looking up at him now, the same girl whose face had melted from anger and fear into raw vulnerability as she had wrapped her hands around the bars, moving just close enough to make him reconsider his actions at the time. The memory angered him.

"I… I didn't tell them because…" Emma was backing up slowly as his arms had come up to grip her biceps, to keep her still, keep her from _running away._ "I shouldn't have left you behind. I shouldn't… You have every right to…"

But she did not bother to finish her sentence. Hook saw in her blue eyes some reconsideration, some change in course. They were standing just inches apart, his arms holding her body there with him, in his quarters, on _his ship_, and she was full of demands and now apologies and now questions and her hair was damp and _goddamn_, fighting off the urge to kiss her trembling bottom lip had _not_ been in his plans tonight.

"What did you mean?" Her words broke his trance. "What did that mean that you—you secured my path to Henry?" For once, there was no insult in her voice, no sarcasm, nothing of the tools he had always seen Emma use to build up her wall around herself, nothing but a small shake of her head. "You stole the compass and went to that lake and—"

"—I could have killed you, Swan."

She stilled even her smallest movements, listening.

"You've wielded a sword, what, three times? Maybe four?"

Some small, confused path to understanding flickered in Emma's eyes as he spoke. Hook quieted his voice but sharpened his words, and he could see his own darkening pupils reflected in the face of the woman whose arms he was now gripping, certain that he must have been hurting her.

"I counted, Swan. I had _seven_ _open shots _at killing you, at slicing you _limb for limb, _but I didn't. I needn't have fought to do it either, you were practically _handing_ your life over to me, but I knew you—"

"—You knew I wouldn't have killed you," Emma finished for him. He loosened his grip a little. "You knew I would have just knocked you out or tied you up. You weren't afraid to look like you were losing. You actually…" She trailed off, looking down to his bared chest where the little petrified bean _wasn't_, used to be. The growing understanding on her face reached its apex. "The bean. You… you used the bean."

"Didn't see why couldn't both have what we wanted, Swan."

Emma's eyes were back to his own now, filled with something new and different and exciting and bloody _dangerous._

Hook released her and began backing away slowly, casually, donning a mask that suggested nothing in the world could be a bother to him, certainly nothing—no one— in this room.

This was not the way he had intended things to go when he decided to let her follow him back to his ship.

He turned away from her, grabbing a small cloth and set about cleaning his hook. Emma was silent for a very long time, no doubt counting her options, and if she had decided to leave right then, he honestly wouldn't have stopped her.

Instead, several moments passed before Hook felt a hand still his working arm. He considered ignoring it completely, pissing her off enough to make her stomp away, but there was something about the way she felt next to him, lifting a hand to him and asking for his attention, that made him acquiesce.

"Thank you," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Me getting back to Henry, it… It wouldn't have mattered in the end, not to you. You still would have gotten to kill Mr. Gold."

"You would be surprised to learn what does and does not matter to me, Swan."

Hook was suddenly aware of how much she was getting underneath his skin. Emma's presence was creeping over every inch of his body and there wasn't a day of his life he wouldn't have grabbed a woman such as this and thrown her onto his bed, just feet away, and set about devastating her completely. But now…

"Why kill Rumplestiltskin, though? Why not be the better man and start a new life, here? Why reward violence with—"

Something snapped.

In an instant, Emma's wrists were pinned to the wall above her head, wrapped up with just his able hand, his hook slamming into the wood next to her head. He had her trapped. Waves of regret and terror were crashing across her face, and Hook could not control the dirty _fury_ he suddenly felt at her being here, on his ship, in his quarters, _touching him, _making him remember that he even _gave_ a shit about her or her bloody son or _anybody _but himself.

"I am going to kill Rumplestiltskin," he growled at her, low, low in his throat. "I am going to kill that fucking Crocodile because he killed Milah. He took her heart, _ripped it out of her living, breathing body, _right in front of me."

His teeth were clenched so hard through his speech that his jaw was aching. Emma squirmed against the wall and he almost violently (_almost_) stilled her with a crash of his hips, crushing them just right against her body and pinning her there.

The fear he tasted hot on her breath was his oxygen. The steel of his hook grinding into the wall was his sustenance.

"I am not going to listen to _you_, of all people, tell me I shouldn't go ahead and slice his damned head off. _You_, the blessed fucking daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, savior of an entire realm, savior to victims of a curse that tore a _world _apart and hurt _thousands_ only because _that fucking Crocodile_ created it in the first place."

Hook had her full attention. Of that much, he was certain. Even her wrists seemed paralyzed, still under his hand, and she seemed to have forgotten the hook embedded in the ship next to her skull. The fear in her eyes was gone, replaced by the dawning of an understanding and pity and sorrow and something that felt oddly like lust, or something just as filthy and glorious.

"Hook—"

"—That's not my name, Emma." He was not sure if he'd meant for it to be a warning.

He suddenly became more aware—_very aware—_of how much he was crushing his body against hers.

"_Killian_," she breathed.

And just like that, he was crushing his lips against hers. His hand freed Emma's wrists and it was not without some surprise on his part that she used her hands to tangle roughly in his hair instead of pushing him away.

He pried his metal appendage from the wall and wrapped his newly freed arm around her lower back, pulling her away from the wall and against him completely. He bit down on her bottom lip, just hard enough to make her gasp so he could slip his tongue inside, velvet.

Hook— _Killian_— really wasn't in the mood for making requests tonight.

Before he knew it, there was the clang of belt buckles and the rustle of fabric and Emma was growing very impatient, tearing at him like he had awoken some sort of beast inside _her_. She pressed her hand against his flushed chest once his tunic was discarded, and just _felt_, still for a second, maybe less, but it served its purpose.

Yes, his heart was still in his chest.

Things stopped making sense shortly after that. Thoughts, time couldn't be linear, not after he saw her bare for the first time, all soft skin and taut nipples and hot, _searing_ heat coursing through his body as Emma wrapped a hand around him, stroking and massaging and _there_ _wasn't time for that_, he thought, maybe shouted, and she led him into her.

Killian knew that a stranger looking in on the scene would see two people so alike and _so very different_, clawing and crashing together like they needed it to affirm their existence, to remind themselves that there are other people— other bodies, _Emma's body_— in this world that had spent time, _so much time_, thinking those thoughts and just…

He was lost in her. In that second, nothing made sense but her and what she was giving him and oh, _oh God, he was hell bound, she didn't need this from him and he was sure he was fucking up now, breaking and entering and dooming another mother with a helpless child._

Killian forced himself to stop thinking then and just _poured_ everything he had into making her shudder, making her wrap those long, elegant legs around his waist, securing them there while he took her so hard she would _scream_, scream for him and scream about him, scream his name_, _scream for _Killian—_

_—_and he felt himself beginning to lose it, all too soon. He wasn't ready, he didn't think he'd be able to get this _back_ once it was all gone. He needed to make Emma remember this. She was biting down on his shoulder, _hard, _as her orgasm peaked. But he knew he needed to make her look up, make her _see him._

With more abandon than he knew he could show anyone, he grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled, just hard enough to yank her head back, up, up to look at him and yes, _God yes, _he was fine just _forcing_ her to watch his eyes as he let go. He needed Emma to see him in the most vulnerable state he had allowed himself to be in for over _three hundred years, _and Killian knew that she needed to see it too.

As he crashed over the edge, _fell hard_, it occurred to him that he had been wrong about the place that abandoned children meet. There was no second star to the right, no kingdom in the sky. Those children cry and they grow up and they hurt and then they hurt others, and the cycle trips over its own feet until finally two of those same souls crash together. It happens on top of beanstalks, it happens in stolen cars and pirate ships; it happens wherever it needs to, because it _needs _to happen. And that morning when a warmer sun rises comes in the middle of the darkest nights.

Emma did not leave him that night. Killian at least expected to have to silence weak protests, to give her reasons to stay, be he hadn't needed any of it. They talked very little, but it was a comfortable silence. The crystal calm of the air in his chamber was punctuated only by her soft sighs as he ran the cool steel of his hook over her soft, sated curves.

She was beautiful. And it was okay that he didn't deserve her, because he knew he didn't _have_ her, not yet.

He left that task for another day.

As she was finally drifting off to sleep, Killian gently tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear with hook, letting it rest against her rosy cheek as he whispered to her sleeping form.

_"Nobody's going to hurt you or your son, love. Nobody."_

It was a promise.

At dawn, when Emma left, Killian watched from the bed as she donned her somewhat torn clothing and fixed herself up. She approached the bed quietly and planted one last kiss on his cheek. He saw no issue in letting her think he was sleeping.

The door closed behind her, and he went to the window to watch her walk away into the foggy morning, disappearing behind the trees.

Killian set about dressing himself, smiling at the mess they had made of the room in the night.

The _Jolly Roger_ would sleep for the day, anchored just outside Storybrooke, while its Captain left to stalk the shadows again, invisible to everyone but the one who knew him best.

Fin.

Thank you for reading! Reviews, crit, and reposts most appreciated!


	2. Shatter and Shimmer

**Title**: _Shatter and Shimmer_

**Author**: Abigayle (Tumblr: from-a-bad-fairy)

**Pairing**: Killian Jones/Emma Swan (Once Upon A Time)

**Rating**: M (lots of sex, language || Warning: hints of Dark!Hook)

**Summary**: _"There is a fire escape outside Emma Swan's bedroom window."_ || PWP of sorts, with feeling. Takes place in the same universe as ''This Is My Kingdom Come''. (Spoilers up through Queen of Hearts)

**Suggested listening: **"Radioactive" and "Bleeding Out" by Imagine Dragons, "Fixin'" by Walk the Moon. I take a lot of inspiration from song lyrics (the title is from "Fixin'"), so I must thank these wonderful musicians for being such excellent muses.

**Notes**: This sexy little addition to 'This Is My Kingdom Come ' was written for Maggie, as my Captain Swan secret Valentine for her. You do NOT need to read the former in order to read this one. It can stand alone.

* * *

There is a fire escape outside Emma Swan's bedroom window.

And for three weeks now, Killian had hid in the shadows every night, running his gloved hand along the rusted black iron and willing the thick red curtains to open, to billow even in the slightest.

By this point, he had no delusions about what he was doing there. He had memorized her routine. For a woman that was so impulsive and rash, Killian found her to be awfully predictable when it came to a bedtime itinerary.

Until tonight.

This night, as Killian reached the top of the stairwell, taking special care as always not to arouse the ancient, creaky nature of the contraption, he immediately noticed a departure from the usual.

Emma Swan's bedroom window was open.

* * *

Emma had to admit, Hook— _Killian_—was not quite as sneaky as he probably gave himself credit for. It was obvious he believed his presence had gone unnoticed, night after night, as he all but _stalked_ her from outside her window.

And if it had been anyone else out there, any other man, Emma would have slammed her window open and aimed her gun at his face the first time she noticed him outside.

But then, Killian Jones wasn't just _any_ other man.

Everything about this situation should have made Emma feel sick. She _should_ have been disgusted with herself when she realized her strange excitement at the thought of Captain Hook watching her in her apartment. Nausea _should_ have risen in her throat when she thought about this man, this man who knew about it every time she stepped into the shower at night, who could hear her soft, idle humming as she slipped on her nightgown.

But, no. Instead, the knowledge that Killian's eyes—_fuck, those blue eyes—_ were on her, tracking her silhouette through the curtains… it felt like _drums_ inside her ribcage. It made the tips of her fingers tingle as if they were loosing circulation, made her heart beat so hard that she could see the _thump thump thump _below her sternum. Knowing Killian Jones _wanted_ to watch her, night after night?

She just couldn't _stop_ the intoxicating high, as if from oxygen-deprivation, but at the same time she found herself _jealous_, jealous that he had a perch from which he could watch her, yet _she_ had no way to watch him.

Emma had given up on trying to keep herself from remembering their night together on his ship, when he had first come to Storybrooke in secrecy. It was useless to push the memories out— and in all honesty, she didn't even want to. Killian Jones had showed her a side of him that night that she knew few had ever seen. Emma had pushed through a wall with him, but it hadn't been like it was in romance novels and movie dramas. She had not _fixed _him, gotten him to reveal all his deepest, rawest emotions before kissing him and making him whole again.

She had ripped down a wall, all right, but it hadn't been pretty or romantic. It had been a nasty, _violent_ affair to watch Hook come apart like that. What she had found on the other side of that wall was a broken, angry man, full of hate and hopelessness and villainy.

And yet, it hadn't been unlike watching a star die, growing huge red bright hot angry before bursting into this luminous ball of blistering radiation. Emma remembered reading in school that after a star became a supernova, it would release more energy in that moment that it ever had in its entire _lifetime_.

So it had been then, after Captain Hook burst open and burnt out and settled into _Killian_ that Emma had been there, taking him into her body and absorbing everything he needed to give her. She would have been lying if she said she had ever experienced anything like it. To be so intimate with a person when they are not only at their most vulnerable, but when their most vulnerable is nothing but a state of pure self-hatred and destruction?

Emma had felt dirty and beautiful and needed, like being pushed down by some force invisible and tangible all at once, drowning under the weight of water, the weight of his _sounds—_

She needed to feel it again.

_Just one more time._

So that night, Emma Swan decided to sleep with the window cracked.

* * *

It wasn't that Killian thought Emma was _totally_ unaware of his spying, but he was sure she couldn't know about _all_ of it. There was no way she would have let that stand. Perhaps she had just seen him the night before, perhaps—

-but who was he to say she was even _inviting_ him in at all? The night was cool, pleasant, there was no reason why Emma wouldn't want to enjoy a nice breeze as she slept. Sure, she had never done so in the three weeks he had been watching her, but perhaps she felt a bit flushed this night and fancied a cooling off.

Maybe she had also selected one of her _thinner_ nightgowns, or perhaps she even felt hot enough to sleep bare. Killian remembered the sight of her beneath him, glowing, blood rushing just beneath the surface of her soft skin and covered in a beautiful sheen of sweat, her whole body glistening with need for him.

He was starting to care a lot less about Emma's intentions in keeping her window open tonight.

Her bedroom lights were off for the night, which did not surprise Killian. His investigation of Belle's whereabouts earlier in the evening had kept him later than usual, so he hadn't arrived at his secret post until well after he knew Emma to tuck herself into bed. Killian entertained the thought that the _responsible _thing to do—_as a concerned passerby of sorts_—would be to check that some kind of stranger had not forced their way into Emma's flat, leaving the window open in their wake. If everything turned out to be fine, but Emma was woken in the process, she would surely accept the easy explanation that he was simply _looking out for her safety._

And while he knew that Emma was smart enough to see right through to his less _noble_ intentions, something about the way she had breathed his name on _his_ bed, on his ship, like she was telling him a _dirty little secret_, told him that she might not care why Killian Jones was in her bedroom.

What tiny shred of her heart she had given him was shred enough to encourage him.

He was thankful that the guilty slide of metal on metal made no sound as he slowly pried open the window a tad further. Quietly slipping one leather clad leg inside, his hand grazed the silky red curtains, and Killian felt a stirring in his chest knowing that he was _finally_ pushing aside the wretched cloth that had kept Emma fully from him for too long. When he was all the way inside, a glance at her bed told him that he had succeeded in not waking her.

And suddenly Killian realized that he was standing in the middle of Emma Swan's bedroom, alone save for his sleeping princess, turned away from him in her bed.

Never before had Killian Jones he felt so fucking dangerous.

He may not get everything he wanted in this moment, but he could certainly _do_ anything he wanted. Emma was strong woman, she would let him know if he crossed any lines—at least any lines she didn't want him to cross.

And to be fair—

_—she had no right to cross the line she did when she stepped on my ship—_

—he really had no idea _where_ the lines were between them anymore, what these lines might even look like, but he was willing to find out tonight, in Emma's bed.

* * *

Emma never did fall asleep that night.

He was quiet enough entering, and if she had actually been sleeping she would never have noticed.

But— but it apparently did not take long for Killian to decide he did not _care_ if she had noticed, because before she could comprehend it, there was a weight pushing down on the edge of her mattress.

She stopped breathing.

There was an uncertain moment of nothing where Killian did not move, did not reach for her, but the moment passed quicker than it had arrived. Emma felt a hand—_his only hand_—on the sheet atop her ribcage, and she found her herself mentally wishing away the fabric for him to find her bare skin underneath.

Then he hand was suddenly gone and she heard the sound of heavy clothing falling to the floor—no doubt his leather coat—and then—

—then there was a whole body at her back, forming to her body, but not in the sweet, comforting fashion of a lover fitting perfectly beside you. Instead, she felt the thrill of an animal that is being hunted—but one that wanted to be pursued, _ached_ to be caught in the hunter's net.

She certainly had no intention of running tonight.

Killian's hand slid beneath the blankets, and Emma heard—_felt_—his breath catch in his chest upon discovering her nudity.

His hand stopped suddenly, and she felt his whole body go rigid. Confusion settled over Emma. Why was he stopping? Surely he realized she wasn't sleeping, so it couldn't be that he was just being careful not to wake her. Why wasn't he—?

And then Emma realized. He was waiting for permission.

"_Please, _Emma_."_

"_Yes. Yes, I—"_

But Killian apparently did not care to hear the rest of her sentence. And things suddenly began happening very, very fast for Emma Swan.

His hand was running down her waistline, gripping and holding her in his palm as he went. He took in the gentle curve of her backside, teasing her thighs with his fingertips and cool leather and laces and then, then there was _no_ teasing to be had at all and—

—two strong fingers were making their way inside her, and she found herself in _that moment_ where her body hadn't had time to prepare itself just yet, hanging in euphoric shock alongside her brain. But that white-hot feeling—the _friction_ this provided was the perfect amount of bother, of _pain_ to set her off and ignite her entire being. Killian was adept with his lack of rhythm, erratic in his ministrations, and if this didn't qualify as _perfect rough guilty beautiful _then she didn't know what did.

Suddenly, Emma was overcome with the realization that _she needed to kiss him_, and she forced herself to pull away from his hand. She turned over to face him and _dear _god he smelled fantastic, looked like pure _sin_ in his tunic and tight pants and _fuck fuck fuck those have to come off now—_

The next few moments were a fluster of searing kisses and clothing shed, Emma and Killian breathing hotly into each other's mouths as if they were trying to expel all heat from their bodies and just take in the other's. Emma's only regret from their first encounter, back on his ship, was that she had not taken the time—had not _had _the time—to fully appreciate the marvel of his body, and she was _not_ going to make that mistake twice.

Killian's form had all the look of youth, but was cloaked with the roughness of three hundred years of piracy and mischief. He was firm, scars scattering his toned middle and dark hair dusting his chest. But his shoulders—his _shoulders_ were something to behold, strong and broad and Emma was pretty sure he could pin down her smaller body with the strength of this expanse alone.

Emma reached for his left… _appendage_, wishing to truly examine it for the first time. The daunting, curved steel—

—_and she remembered the feel of it dragging across her bare back, fuck—_

_—_was attached to his arm with a, well, _port_ for it to sort of 'click' into. She had seen him do it many times before.

"I want to take this off."

Hesitation promptly took over Killian's expression. "I can remove the hook—"

"The _whole_ thing, Killian. I want to feel you as you are. All of you."

He was silent for a moment, clearly considering ignoring her request and just flipping her on her stomach instead. But there was also a growing element of fascination, of guilt, of _why should you have to be confronted with the marred state of my body?_

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea, love."

"Please."

Killian's shoulders slumped, as if in defeat, but then he was focusing on something else, reaching for her hands and directing them to his left wrist—the place where his wrist _would_ have been. Wordlessly, he began guiding her fingers, showing her how to remove the brace and black cloth.

Emma was sure she was the only person who had ever been allowed to do this to him.

It wasn't pretty, but she hadn't expected it to be. Still, she felt a sense of relief knowing that she had now seen _all_ of him. One less mystery for her to dwell on while she should be working at the station or doing Henry's laundry or cooking dinner or sleeping while Killian waited on the fire escape outside her bedroom window.

She pressed a kiss to his scars, trying to show him, _prove_ to him that his imperfections didn't bother her, that she was okay with, just, _everything._

But this was much too sickly sweet for Captain Hook. This was not why he was in Emma Swan's bed tonight.

And then Emma was face down on her own bed and Killian was grabbing her hips, tugging them up, teeth grazing her shoulders and there was _heat_ between their bodies, radiation running towards her and _screaming_ off his skin, coming down to bathe her own.

In a snap decision, she decided to take charge for a moment. Her plan had been to sit up on her knees and reach back over his shoulders, surprise him with a kiss.

She did not get very far.

With strength she'd only had the privilege of experiencing once or twice before, his hand—_how does he do all this to me with one fucking hand?—_pushed down on her waist, hard, his left forearm coming up to press down on her shoulder and now she was stuck, _pinned_, and there was no way she was getting out of this one.

"I'll be sure to inform you when _you_ can start making the rules here, _beautiful._"

And then Killian was inside her. He was just as thick as she remembered, surging through her core and Emma had never felt so _taken_, ever before. There would be bruises, and she would admire them in her mirror tomorrow.

If nothing else had happened on this night, if no lessons were learned and nothing was shared between them, Emma would still look back on this and remember a time she gave her control over to someone else. She would recall a moment when she bared her body and breathed out, counted to three and just _took everything in_. Tomorrow, in a week, in another ten years she might not remember everything, but she would remember the time she welcomed a man into her room in the middle of the night and asked him to _fuck_ her, a time when she finally stopped struggling against someone _wanting_ her and just gave over her trust for a moment, _content_—if that was the word—to lay and watch all those imaginary lines shatter and shimmer before them.

Once Killian was satisfied with the number of times he had made her shudder around him, made her body let go and her dampness cover onto the sheets below her, he removed himself and flipped her over.

Her legs clasped together over his shoulders.

And he started moving again.

Emma stopped counting the number of the hours lost between them. Eventually, Killian came to lie beside her, sated, and by then the sun was already threatening to break over the horizon. They had not spoken a word to each other in hours, and honestly? Emma didn't even know what she could possibly say.

_Thanks?_

_Come again?_

_That was amazing? You're amazing?_

_Will you be out there tomorrow night?_

_You don't have to stay out there. You can stay in here._

_My bed gets lonely._

_It's been lonely for a long time._

_I like the way you feel in it._

Instead, she just exhaled and curled into him, taking advantage of his exhaustion and lack of will to make any snarky comments about cuddling.

Or maybe he just wanted that intimacy, just for a moment, just as much as she did.

Maybe sleepless nights like this one were what Killian Jones needed to keep Captain Hook at bay. Maybe this was the perfect distraction, a distraction to keep his mind off Mr. Gold, off Belle, vengeance, bloodshed.

At the very least, Emma was willing to keep giving it a shot.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


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